


Like A Perhaps

by quoth_the_ravenclaw



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Character Study, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Build, compulsory heterosexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quoth_the_ravenclaw/pseuds/quoth_the_ravenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’ll hate me.” Oikawa’s voice is shaky and quiet. He’s won’t meet Iwaizumi’s gaze again. It makes Iwaizumi want to punch him. He settles for clapping him on the shoulders and ignoring the way the other boy flinches.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Like hell I could ever hate you,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re my best friend, moron. So stop being stupid and just tell me before I punch it out of you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I like boys!” And that - is not what Iwaizumi was expecting.</i>
</p><p>Oikawa and Iwaizumi are figuring themselves out. Some things change, and some things stay the same. There are bumps along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the ever beautiful [magebird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magebird) for betaing/letting me cry to her about sports babies/generally being awesome.

The spring before his first year at Aoba Johsai, Iwaizumi goes on vacation. It’s a big family reunion, two weeks in Okinawa with aunts and uncles he barely remembers, cousins who hardly remember him. Oikawa sees him off, demanding he bring back seashells and some of his grandmother’s homemade milk bread.

It’s fun - Iwaizumi goes snorkeling and hiking and even bug catching - but he can’t help feeling it would be more fun if Oikawa were there with him. It’s exhausting, too, answering endless questions from his relatives - how are his studies going ( _well_ ) ; does he still play volleyball ( _yes_ ) ; does he have a girlfriend yet ( _no_ ) - and Iwaizumi longs for the feeling of his palm spiking a volleyball down on the other side of the net.

It’s the longest and farthest he’s ever been away from home. It’s the longest he’s ever been away from _Oikawa_ , and by the time the plane touches back down in Sendai, Iwaizumi’s blood is restless under his skin.

Except.

When he gets back, Oikawa takes one look at him, suitcase in one hand and a loaf of homemade milk bread in the other, and suddenly remembers that he’s _“busy, Iwa-chan, maybe later?”_

Later doesn’t come. There’s always some chore, some assignment, some errand Oikawa simply must take care of - if he even responds to Iwaizumi’s calls at all.

Oikawa is ignoring him. No - _avoiding_ him. It pisses him off.

Iwaizumi is used to Oikawa being obnoxious, definitely. He's used to Oikawa being anxious, cagey, determined to the point of self detriment. What he's not used to is Oikawa hiding it from him.

-

Iwaizumi finds him, the night before they're set to become first years, in the gym, a sea of used volleyballs surrounding him and the smell of sweat and salonpas thick in the air. He stands silently in the doorway and watches Oikawa rear up to serve for what must be the hundredth time this night (probably the thousandth time this week).

Oikawa's sneakers squeak on the court, the swish of his shorts as he leaps. For a moment, the gym is utterly silent. Then the slam of palm against synthetic leather as the volleyball flies through the air and smashes onto the ground at the other end of the court.

It's a good serve.

Iwaizumi knows that for Oikawa it isn't nearly good enough. Sure enough the brunette reaches into the cart to grab another ball, swears quietly when he finds it empty (as though he isn't the cause). He jogs under the net to grab a ball on the other side. When he turns around to serve it, his eyes meet Iwaizumi's and he freezes.

"Iwa-chan," he says stiffly. He's too tired for his smile to be anything like convincing.

"Shittykawa," Iwaizumi greets in return.

"What brings you here? And so late! Don't you have school in the morning?"

"You do too, idiot."

"Calling names! So mean!"

"You've been avoiding me,” Iwaizumi says.

“Did Iwa-chan miss me?” Oikawa hums. Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the way his hands shake, the way he grips the volleyball so tightly his fingers go white. “You’re the one who abandoned me to go off on some exotic adventure.”

“It was Okinawa. And I’ve been back for a whole week.”

“That long?” Oikawa says. “I lost track.”

“No you didn’t,” Iwaizumi says, feeling his frustration grow. For as violent as their friendship is, they rarely ever have actual fights. And maybe it’s because they both know each other too well, have too much ammunition on the other. Oikawa knows all the ways to rile Iwaizumi up; Iwaizumi knows all the ways to tear Oikawa down.

Iwaizumi really hopes they settle this before it comes to that.

“You should go home,” Oikawa says.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well then I guess you’re going to be here a while,” Oikawa says. Before Iwaizumi can retort, Oikawa is running, leaping, slamming the ball over the net. It’s out by a long shot, but Oikawa doesn’t even take the time to notice before he grabs up another stray ball for his next run, leap, _slam_.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says.

_Run, leap, slam._

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi trudges over to the net.

_Run, leap, slam._

“ _Oika_ -” Iwaizumi doesn’t get the chance to finish, because the next serve slams right into his face. His head jerks back with the force of it and before he knows what’s happening, Iwaizumi is on the ground, staring up at the bright florescent lights above while a frantic Oikawa kneels over him.

“Shit - shit - Iwa-chan -”

Oikawa reaches a hand out to his face, but the moment they touch, he jerks back as though burned. In a daze, Iwaizumi sits up, and Oikawa jolts away, scrambling up and back, hands spasming and eyes on the ground.

“You should go home,” Oikawa repeats. It’s the final straw.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Iwaizumi yells.

Oikawa freezes. “Sorry.”

“I’m not talking about the serve!” Iwaizumi is up now, storming across the court to where Oikawa is _still not looking at him_. Vaguely, he registers that his nose is bleeding, but he’s too pissed off to give a siht. “You’ve been acting like a dick all week!” He screams, hand coming up to catch Oikawa by the collar.

Oikawa goes rigid in his grip and a sweat breaks out on his forehead. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” Iwaizumi demands. He tightens his grip in Oikawa’s shirt.

“Let me go.”

Oikawa is taller than him. He could probably break out of Iwaizumi’s grip if he really tried. Instead he stands there, silent and trembling. Iwaizumi would rather he talk (it’s probably the one time in his life he wishes Oikawa would say _more_ ), but at least he’s not trying to escape.

“Are you stressed about making first string?” It’s a preposterous thought - Oikawa is the best setter in the prefecture; he was offered a spot at Aoba Johsai specifically because of volleyball. Iwaizumi knows this, but he also knows that Oikawa gets into these weird ruts where nothing he does feels good enough. “Are you worried you won’t be as good as the upperclassmen?”

Oikawa shakes his head.

Iwaizumi lets out a breath. He’s relieved Oikawa isn’t overworking himself out of self-doubt. But if _that_ isn’t the problem, then that only leaves...

“Is it - do you - do you not like me anymore?” Iwaizumi asks. He can hear himself getting louder, feel his fist clenching tighter. Oikawa hides self-doubt with jokes and volleyball; Iwaizumi hides it with anger. “Are you too good for me or something? Because you got some sports scholarship-”

“No!” Oikawa shouts. The outburst is enough to make Iwaizumi drop his fist and take a step back.

“It’s not that,” Oikawa insists, quieter.

“Then what the hell is it?” Iwaizumi asks. He _knows_ Oikawa, knows him as well as he knows himself (maybe even knows him better), so how - _how_ \- can he be missing something so big, so important, so glaringly wrong.

“I can’t tell you,” Oikawa says, firm and serious.

“Bullshit, Oikawa. We tell each other everything.”

“Not this! I… you’ll be mad.”

“I’m already mad.” He’s mad Oikawa’s been avoiding him. He’s mad that he had to follow him to the gym after dark on a school night. He’s mad that after everything they’ve been through together, Oikawa _still_ tries to carry the weight of the world on his own.

“You’ll hate me.” Oikawa’s voice is shaky and quiet. He’s won’t meet Iwaizumi’s gaze again. It makes Iwaizumi want to punch him. He settles for clapping him on the shoulders and ignoring the way the other boy flinches.

“Like hell I could ever hate you,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re my best friend, moron. So stop being stupid and just tell me before I punch it out of you.”

“I like boys!” And that - is not what Iwaizumi was expecting.

“Huh?” He says.

“I’m bisexual,” Oikawa says. There are tears brimming in his eyes. Did Iwaizumi miss something? Oikawa is on the verge of crying; he has to have missed something.

“Is that it?” He asks.

“What do you mean, _is that it?_ It’s a big deal!”

“But why would I be mad about that?”

“Because- you- I-” Oikawa trails off, flustered and frustrated.

Iwaizumi is definitely missing something, but he can’t linger on that right now. Not when Oikawa looks so scared and uncomfortable before him. “I told you, you're my best friend. You're into guys, so what?”

“You wouldn't get it, since you just like girls,” Oikawa says, and it sounds just as much like an accusation as an explanation.

Is that why Oikawa is upset? Because Iwaizumi likes girls?

 _Does_ he like girls?

He must, Iwaizumi thinks. He doesn't dislike them, after all, and he doesn’t like boys so he must like girls. It’s just - he’s never really thought about it before. Never really seen the need to. Never really had the _time_ to, not when there’s school and volleyball and Oikawa to worry about.

“You… you really don't hate me?” Oikawa asks, interrupting his thoughts. His voice is small but intense, will accept nothing less than the total, honest truth.

“Of course I don't,” Iwaizumi says. He watches Oikawa’s shoulders relax as the tension he’s been holding all week melts out of him.

“‘I’m sorry I made your nose bleed,” Oikawa says.

“Yeah, you owe me pork buns for a month,” Iwaizumi responds.

“A month?!” Oikawa sqwaks. “That’s way too much!”

“A _month._ ”

“A week.”

“Two weeks.”

“A week and a half,” Oikawa begs

“A week and a half,” Iwaizumi concedes. “ _And_ you carry my gym bag home from practice.”

Oikawa whines but nods, sticking out his hand. They shake on it.

“Now help me clean this mess up and let's go home,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa doesn't even beg for one more serve. He just starts taking down the net while Iwaizumi works to collect the stray volleyballs littered around the court.

By the time they start the walk home, it's _late_. Iwaizumi is already dreading having to wake up in the morning (and worse, having to wait for Oikawa to wake up in the morning), but next to him Oikawa is smiling and chatting away, filling Iwaizumi in on all the things he missed while he was gone. It’s the lightest Iwaizumi has felt in a week.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some part of the equation isn’t lining up. If Oikawa were here, he’d know in an instant. Oikawa reads people and numbers with the same calculating precision, takes them apart and puts them back together again, has the answer faster than Iwaizumi can even read the problem. But Oikawa isn’t here (he’s been getting further and further away for weeks), and Iwaizumi is on his own._

They’re halfway through their first year when something strange happens. It’s after volleyball practice one day, and Oikawa is surrounded by a throng of girls. 

It’s not the girls themselves that are unusual, nor the pile of confessions they give Oikawa - ever since they started high school, Oikawa has been steadily gaining popularity among their female classmates; Iwaizumi tries not to let it bug him too much. No, what’s unusual is the pink envelop in the pile that has Iwaizumi’s name scrawled on it in neat, round kanji.

Oikawa is smiling over-wide when he hands it over. “It’s for you,” he says.

“ _Iwa-chan_ ’s first confession!” Croons one of the other first years.

“They grow up so fast!” Cries another, hand thrown over his heart. They collapse together in a fit of laughter.

Iwaizumi catches the way Oikawa tenses at their taunts and whips around to scowl at them. “Hey, don’t call me that!” He snarls. It comes out harsher than he’d meant, and both up them snap up at the angry tone and stare at him.

“Whoa,” Says one.

“Sorry man,” Says the other. 

The two share a glance before turning and wandering off to the club room together to change. Iwaizumi turns back to Oikawa to see him smiling once more as though nothing was ever wrong in the first place.

“Should I be jealous?” He hums. “Someday Iwa-chan might be as popular as me.”

“Fat chance,” Iwaizumi says. “Like I could ever compete with your shitty personality.”

Oikawa laughs and flounces off to the club room, his own stack of confessions fluttering in his arms as he goes. Iwaizumi can’t help but feel that something is wrong.

It’s later, after they have changed out of their practice clothes and are walking home, that Oikawa asks the question.

“Do you not like it when I call you Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks over at him. “Huh? Where’d that come from?”

“You told Makki and Mattsun not to call you that. You sounded really mad.”

“Well it is kind of a dumb nickname,” Iwaizumi says.

“Oh.” Oikawa sounds like the world has just fallen out from under him.

“It’s different when you use it,” Iwaizumi says.

“It is?” Oikawa asks. He’s staring at Iwaizumi now far too intensely for this to really be about a nickname. “How?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I dunno. Just is. Besides, you’ve been calling me that for years. I know better than to try and stop you now.”

“I would,” Oikawa says. “If you really didn’t want me to.”

“It’s fine. Don’t get so worked up about it.”

“I’m not worked up!” Oikawa says.

“Well you’re acting weird about something,” Iwaizumi says.

“I’m not,” Oikawa insists, face shifting into one of his manic grins. “Iwa-chan is imagining things. That confession must be getting to your head.”

Ah, so that’s it.

“Is that what this is about? The confession?” Iwaizumi asks. 

Oikawa’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over his next step. _Bingo._

“I know you joked before, but are you - are you jealous?”

“What? Jealous? Not at all!” Oikawa says in a tone that implies anything but. “Why would I be jealous of Iwa-chan when I have dozens of admirers who -”

“Look, if you like her, I’ll turn her down,” Iwaizumi says.

“You would?” Oikawa asks.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. It isn’t, after all.

Oikawa is just staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You’re my best friend. I’m not gonna let some girl get in the way of that,” Iwaizumi says. “So if you like her -”

“I don’t!” Oikawa says, too loud and too fast. Overhead, a flock of birds takes off from the power lines, upset by the sudden outburst.

“Really, Oikawa, if you-”

“I don’t like her. Honestly,” Oikawa says, quiet and earnest now. 

He’s telling the truth, Iwaizumi realizes as he studies his face. “Okay.”

It doesn’t explain why Oikawa is jealous, though, or why he’s been acting so strange since he handed over the envelop. Unless he’s just upset that there’s someone in the universe who isn’t paying attention to him first and foremost. Iwaizumi knows most of their teammates wouldn’t put it past him, but he knows Oikawa better than that. His best friend may strive to be a star, may bask in the attention of others, but he’s not _that_ petty. It’s something else, Iwaizumi knows it, even if he can’t place it yet.

“You should ask her out,” Oikawa says.

“What?”

“The girl. She was cute. You should ask her out.” Oikawa’s tone is nonchalant, and he’s smiling, but something about it just feels wrong.

“I -”

“We’re at my house,” Oikawa announces. He hardly needs to. Iwaizumi knows what Oikawa’s house looks like - he spends almost as much time there as his own, after all. Iwaizumi just nods and starts to follow him up the driveway when Oikawa suddenly turns and stops.

“My sister is visiting for dinner tonight,” He says, “So I can’t hang out.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says and tries not to feel so disappointed. He can handle one afternoon on his own, after all. “I’ll see you at school then.”

Oikawa nods. “Think about it. The girl,” He says before turning and heading inside.

Iwaizumi watches him go, the weight of the pink envelope in his bag feeling oddly heavy.

-

The girl, as it turns out, is in his class. She sits in front of him, two seats to the left. She’s cute, Iwaizumi supposes.

They date.

It’s nice enough. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what the fuss is all about, but he doesn’t _dislike_ spending time with her. She waits for him after practices and they go out for coffee or ice cream or ramen. And if when she takes his hand, his gut twists up in uncomfortable knots and his skin feels too tight, he can pass it off as too much to eat, something off in the broth.

(His stomach never knotted up when he and Oikawa would eat after practice, he tries not to think.)

It’s a few weeks in and his teammates have finally stopped heckling him and making lewd wolf whistles every time she greets him. Even Oikawa’s taunts have lessened.

Actually, a lot of Oikawa has lessened.

They still walk to school together, still see each other during class breaks, still team up for stretches and drills, still spend the odd weekend afternoon doing homework sprawled out in someone’s living room, but it all feels… muted somehow. Like the color in their conversations has been desaturated and all that’s left is a faded grey imprint of what their friendship used to be, all hollow greetings and scripted small talk.

Maybe that’s just what happens. Aren’t relationships supposed to be more important than friendships?

Except the thing is that Iwaizumi doesn’t want it to be. The girl is just that: a girl. She’s nice, and she’s sweet, and she’s probably pretty, but she doesn’t _mean_ anything to Iwaizumi.

But dating nice, sweet, pretty girls is what you’re supposed to do. So Iwaizumi does.

-

It’s Saturday night. Date night.

Saturday nights are different from the other times they go out. They’re less casual, more intimate, harder to pretend that it’s just like hanging out with any other friend. Saturday night she dresses up and they go out to a nice restaurant (as nice as a high school budget can afford). Afterwards he walks her home and she laces their fingers together while Iwaizumi tries not to sweat too much.

“I had a good time tonight,” she says when they reach her doorstep.

“Oh, um, me too,” Iwaizumi says and does not fidget. She’s staring up at him with big, dark eyes, lips curved into a small smile, and she’s rocking back and forth from heel to toe as though she’s expecting something more. “It was nice,” He adds lamely.

She giggles.

“Hajime-kun,” She says, and something about it makes him feel like he’s breaking out into a rash. “You know you can kiss me, right?”

_Oh._

She’s blushing, staring up at him expectantly, waiting. 

Waiting for him to _kiss her_.

His stomach feels like it’s twisting in on itself and his face is hot - he must be blushing too - but that’s normal, right? First kisses are supposed to make you nervous. They’re supposed to be awkward and weird and make you feel like you’re going to throw up, right?

 _Everyone else gets nervous about their first kiss too_ , Iwaizumi thinks.

( _Everyone else actually wants their first kiss though_ , Iwaizumi absolutely does not think.)

It doesn’t make sense. Everyone else seems so obsessed with it: kissing, and dating, and falling in love or whatever. How can everyone crave it so much when it's so draining? When he's constantly worrying about what he's supposed to do next, what does she want from him, oh god please don't let her want something from him, he's not sure he can -

There's something wrong. Some part of the equation that isn’t lining up. If Oikawa were here, he’d know in an instant. Oikawa reads people and numbers with the same calculating precision, takes them apart and puts them back together again, has the answer faster than Iwaizumi can even read the problem. But Oikawa isn’t here (he’s been getting further and further away for weeks), and Iwaizumi is on his own. Iwaizumi’s never been great with math, always had to work twice as hard as Oikawa to get the same grade. Numbers just don’t work for him. But this girl isn’t numbers, she’s a _person_. She’s nice, she's cute, she's everything he is supposed to want. A perfectly balanced system.

So then what the hell is wrong with him?

She’s still standing there, looking at him expectantly, and he can’t just stand here, he has to actually _do_ something. _Kiss her,_ he tells himself _. It’s not a big deal, people do it all the time, just kiss her, just_ -

His phone rings.

They both freeze, the girl on her toes and Iwaizumi awkwardly hovering over her as the X Files theme buzzes from his pocket. 

“It’s Oikawa,” He says, digging out his phone and trying not to look as relieved as he feels.

“We’re in the middle of a date,” she says. 

_We’re at the end of a date_ , Iwaizumi doesn’t say. He ends up not having to say anything, because the ringtone cuts off abruptly - sent to voicemail.

The girl smiles again, and if she looks slightly strained, Iwaizumi tries not to notice. “Where were we?” She says.

In his hand hand, the phone buzzes back to life, obnoxious synth blaring.

“I need to take this,” he says.

“Hajime-kun,” she says, reaching for his hand.

“Hello?” He says into the receiver.

There’s no response. “Did you buttdial me, you moron?” Iwaizumi asks.

On the other end of the line, there's a hissed intake of breath.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi says, body suddenly on full alert. The roiling in his gut is back full force for a completely different reason now. He doesn’t notice the girl withdrawing her hand or turning to her front door. All his focus is on the boy at the other end of this phone call.

 _“Iwa-chan,”_ Oikawa says, half a sob.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Iwaizumi asks. 

_“I’m sorry.”_

“Don't apologize, just tell me where you are.”

_“...the gym.”_

Of course, he should have seen that coming, Iwaizumi thinks. And then, a second later: _why didn't he see it coming?_

“I'm on my way,” Iwaizumi barks into the phone, “Don't move.”

On the other end, Oikawa laughs. _“I don't think I can.”_

-

When Iwaizumi finds him, Oikawa is huddled at the end of the court, too pale and still and quiet.

Oikawa stares at him silently while Iwaizumi finds a first aid kit and tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Iwaizumi says, hesitantly pressing an ice pack to the his knee. Up close like this, he can see the dried tear tracks on his face. But Oikawa doesn’t cry, doesn’t say a word. He just goes on staring and staring and doesn’t say a word.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa keeps staring at him, eyes wide. Iwaizumi is reminded of his father’s first and only attempt to take him hunting, how he’d found a young doe with its leg caught in a snare, how he’d cried and run away. Oikawa stares at him now with that same fear, that same exhaustion and sense of dread, like he’s tried to claw his way out only to have the jagged edge of the trap dig in deeper. The dark shadows under his eyes tell Iwaizumi this isn’t the first night he’s stayed too late in the gym.

“Oikawa,” He says, a desperate plea.

“You were on a date,” Oikawa says. He is still staring at Iwaizumi, sharp gaze riveted on the pressed collar of his dark red polo, the only nice shirt Iwaizumi owns. 

“Huh?”

“I interrupted your date.” 

“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal,” Iwaizumi says. 

Now Oikawa is looking anywhere but him. Somehow it’s even worse than the endless staring. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be an idiot. If I say it’s not a big deal, then it’s not a big deal.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“You shouldn’t have over practiced is what you shouldn’t have done. How long have you been doing this, huh?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa shrugs. “A few weeks?”

A few weeks. That’s when Iwaizumi started -

Oikawa hisses when Iwaizumi’s fingers press too hard into the tender flesh of his knee.

“Shit.” When Iwaizumi lifts the ice pack, the skin underneath is swollen an angry red. “Can you straighten it?” He asks. 

Oikawa hesitates, then shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” He says. It’s as close as he ever comes to admitting defeat.

Iwaizumi takes a breath to steel himself for his next words. “I think you need to go to the hospital.”

Oikawa jerks away from him. “What? No, _no_ , just - just walk me home - it’s Saturday, and I can rest it tomorrow and -”

“Oikawa.”

“I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m sorry I ruined your stupid date, it’s not a big deal -”

“Oikawa.”

“I was just being overdramatic, you know me, Idiotkawa, I’m always-”

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi places a hand on Oikawa’s knee and he cuts off with a sharp cry, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t care that you interrupted some stupid date. I care that you’ve been running yourself ragged for god knows how long. I care that you were stupid enough to get yourself hurt and now you’re being even more stupid by not letting me help you.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says.

“What do you keep apologizing for?”

Oikawa shakes his head and refuses to answer. Iwaizumi only has the strength to win one battle tonight, and it’s not going to be this one. He sighs and turns around, crouching in front of Oikawa. “Fine,” He says. “Whatever it is, I forgive you. Now get on - we’re going to the hospital.”

-

The hospital is a fifteen minute ride on the Tozai line and a five minute walk that takes twice as long with Oikawa’s weight on his back. It’s thirty minutes for paperwork to be processed, another twenty for calls to be made and parents to arrive. Forty five minutes for the MRI, an hour for the doctor to return with the results. Ten minutes for Oikawa to clutch desperately at his hand while a nurse explains meniscal tears and treatments, another ten for him to receive a brace and an appointment for physical therapy.

They tell him he can’t play for six weeks.

By the time Iwaizumi gets back home, it’s well past midnight. He has two missed calls and three unread messages, all from the same person. He doesn’t check any of them. He ignores them the next day too, instead waking up early and going over to Oikawa’s house, leaving his phone behind.

On Monday morning the girl breaks up with him. Iwaizumi pretends not to be relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sister lived in Sendai for three years, and I got to visit her one summer, so doing research on the city has been fun and nostalgic and involved a lot of googlemaps.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’re fifteen the year that your best friend goes off on an adventure without you. You don’t cry - you’re not a child - but you can’t deny the way his absence feels like missing a limb. He won’t be gone long, your mother tells you. And you know, objectively, that two weeks is not a long time. But it’s the longest you’ve been apart since..._
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s the longest you’ve been apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's reflected in the updated tags, but there's some pretty hefty internalized homophobia in this one, so please be aware.

You’re fifteen the year that your best friend goes off on an adventure without you. You don’t cry - you’re not a _child_ \- but you can’t deny the way his absence feels like missing a limb. He won’t be gone long, your mother tells you. And you know, objectively, that two weeks is not a long time. But it’s the longest you’ve been apart since...

It’s the longest you’ve been apart.

So for two weeks you make jokes to empty air, set balls to empty space. You buy two servings of onigiri at the konbini and pretend it was on purpose. You keep looking to the place beside you, expecting him to be there, waiting for him to come back.

And then he comes back.

His shirt in rumpled from the plane ride, his hair a spiky mess. He’s dark from two weeks spent in the sun, and in his left hand he’s clutching a package of milkbread that’s only slightly crushed.

“Well are you just gonna stand there?” He asks.

You want to run up and hug him. You want to run up and _kiss_ him. 

You want to _die_.

Because for two weeks you’ve missed your best friend in ways people usually don’t miss _just a friend_ , and now he’s here, in front of you, sun-kissed and beautiful and everything you’ve been yearning for for two weeks with a longing you couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- name, and he just stares at you with that scowl of his as though the entire world hasn’t just shifted on it’s axis because -

“I have to go,” You say. You want to kick yourself.

He scowls further. “What? I just got back. We were going to hang out.”

“Ah, sorry,” You say with a laugh and the biggest, brightest smile you can muster. He’s always read you well, but you can’t - _you can’t_ \- let him read you this time because this time - “I’m just really busy, Iwa-chan, maybe later?”

Before he can say anything - before you can ruin everything even more - you turn and run. You run and run and don’t bother to look to see if he’s running after you.

-

The thing about running is that once you start it’s hard to stop. An object in motion will stay in motion.

So you keep running. You don’t call it running anymore, though. Now it’s called “dinner with my sister” or “just a few more serves” or “Iwa-chan worries too much.”

You’re sixteen the year that your best friend starts dating a girl.

She is short and sweet and demure and everything you will never be.

So you run.

An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Sometimes that force is your best friend dragging you out of the gym long after practice is over. Sometimes it’s the _pop_ you hear just before your knee gives out from under you. 

For a second you think it’s your heart that’s given way.

-

The thing about your heart is that on the surface it beats strong and sure, but on the inside, it is a frantic, fragile thing, liable to beat out of your chest at any and every moment, liable to break itself open and bare all the dark secrets kept inside. 

So you run. And when running doesn’t work any more, you hide. Cover up with lies and smiles, keep safe, never let anyone too close. Except...

It always comes back to him, somehow. You’re huddled on the floor of the gym, traitorous knee blaring a pain so loud in your head that it almost drowns out the sound of your call going to voicemail. Then he picks up, and the sound of his voice is so relieving and so terrifying all at once that you could cry.

“Iwa-chan,” You start, and then stop, because what are you supposed to say?

_I was wrong_. 

_I messed up_. 

_I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can remember_.

“I’m sorry _,_ ” You manage.

-

The thing about him is that he could shatter you in about three seconds flat. He knows all the dark, scary thoughts that hide in your mind ( _no, not quite, not **all**_ ), he knows all the ways to tear you apart until you can’t be sewn back together again. He could destroy you, but he hasn’t.

Sometimes you wonder why.

-

You’re sixteen the year your best friend breaks up with his girlfriend. You pretend not to be relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: in 2008 there was a fad going through a bunch of fandoms where second person pov was _the thing,_ and I wrote in absolutely nothing but for like six months. I blame dualism, tbh.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this fic is an excuse for me to write out all my ace!iwa headcanons.
> 
> I haven't attempted anything multichaptered in years, so please bare with me! I'm thinking this will end up being four chapters (this plus one for each year at Seijou) but honestly who knows. In the wise words of [SecretMaker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretMaker) "I live my life by the ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ emoji."
> 
>  
> 
> [ANYWAYS COME SCREAM AT ME ABOUT SPORTS HELL](http://www.quoth-the-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


End file.
